


Devil in the Attic

by Squeegee



Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, mentions of tulip/jesse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 17:00:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7276378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeegee/pseuds/Squeegee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The clack of his boots and the second slam of a door echoed through the rafters of the church, and in a hazy, drunken stupor, Jesse fought with the collar that had plagued him since dawn. It landed on the edge of his bed, followed by his suit jacket, followed by his dignity as the preacher undid his belt buckle and leaned back against the safe, sacred wall of his bedroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devil in the Attic

**Author's Note:**

> This is, without a doubt, the most ridiculous, self-indulgent thing I have ever written. I hope y'all sinners enjoy it.

Jesse Custer was not a good preacher.

The days kept getting hotter, longer. Things kept happening that he couldn't justify or understand. People were dead. He had been living without air conditioning for far too long, and the unrelenting heat of the sun made him regret ever picking up the preacher outfit in the first place. The collar was a vice snugly secured around his neck, and more and more Jesse found himself pulling at it in the shade and relative privacy of his truck as he traveled aimlessly around the wife-beating, squirrel-murdering, dying redneck town of Annville.

He was doing good work, _God's_ work. People asked him for help. They looked up to him. He _thought_ they looked up to him. But that didn't stop him from hitting the bottle nearly every night - either by himself in his vehicle or with the devil of a man that had taken up residence in his attic.

And then there was Tulip.

An audible whine escaped the back of Jesse's throat as he zoomed up the church driveway in the evening's dying light, half-empty bottle of bourbon neatly stowed under the driver's seat until the end of tomorrow's errands called it back to his hand.

_Tulip._

Jesse left that life. Jesse left _her_. Jesse came back to the church and the town, and Jesse tried to make good on his promises to appease himself and his father and his God, and then - Shit, there she was. Again. And all the distance and all the booze in the world hadn't helped to calm every single emotion he felt for her. It made him want to scream.

The truck pulled into the grass beside the church, and Jesse barely remembered to close the door as he trotted through the abandoned building to his bedroom. _Tulip. Fucking Tulip._ Ever since she came back she'd been _there_ , waiting to jump out and scare the shit out of him like a teenage kid in some rotten haunted house. And as much as he didn't want to admit it to himself, Jesse _craved_ it. Every scare was closer than the last, and every encounter got him higher than any drug ever could. Her smell, her touch...

_Thanks for getting me all wet._

It had been so long since he'd had sex that just the _proximity_ of her was enough to have him praying those awful words over and over in the back of his thoughts for the rest of his day.

The clack of his boots and the second slam of a door echoed through the rafters of the church, and in a hazy, drunken stupor, Jesse fought with the collar that had plagued him since dawn. It landed on the edge of his bed, followed by his suit jacket, followed by his dignity as the preacher undid his belt buckle and leaned back against the safe, sacred wall of his bedroom. He unzipped his jeans. The usual method of "smoke a cigarette and hope it goes away" had already failed him three times today, and with nothing but an empty pack of Marlboro's to show for it he snaked his hand into his jeans and grabbed himself through his boxers.

_Thanks for getting me all wet._ Christ.

It was embarrassing, how he rutted against the heel of his own hand, how he squeezed the bulge in his underwear in a failed attempt to get it to leave him in peace. Jesse's own quiet moan filled his ears, and he wanted nothing more than to bang his head against the wall as he scrambled to push his pants down and pull himself free of his boxers. No cigarettes, no alcohol within reach, no other vices except Tulip's spiteful words ringing in the back of his head as he closed his eyes and wrapped his fingers around his cock and jerked himself off to that simple, sinful prayer.

The steps outside his door fell on deaf ears as Jesse concentrated on bringing back memories of her and that wicked smile, of her, naked and writhing against the clean sheets of a hotel bed as he climbed up to meet her. He inhaled. The door swung open.

"Y'know I've been thinkin', and you've gotta - Christ, almighty, what's gotten into _you_ , then?"

Tulips face disappeared, and Jesse's heart stopped beating. Slowly, with his dick in his hand and his back still against the wall, he opened his eyes and turned his head to stare at the self-proclaimed vampire. His mouth hung open, all the blood in his body rushing to his ears as he scrambled for something to say. Thoughts. First of his father's disappointment, then of Tulip, then of the ridiculously satisfied look on Cassidy's face. More thoughts. His mouth didn't move an inch, and neither did his hand.

"Rough day at the office, then, was it?" The smirk that had been on Cassidy's face since he'd opened the door only grew wider as he stepped through the doorway, soundless as he glided into the room and in front of Jesse Custer.

Silence. Jesse's eyes followed him, but his head didn't. He'd been so occupied with Tulip that he'd momentarily forgotten about the devil in the attic. Drunk every night, running him out of cigarettes, going on about vampires and demon hunters and staring at him like he was another thing to be desired and cherished and utterly wrecked. It reminded him of another, softer stare that the preacher knew all too well, and in his half-naked desperation it was starting to have the same effect on him. He pushed the thought away as much as he could, but he was still out of cigarettes.

"Well, don't stop on account of me." Cassidy wore The Stare with a feral, toothy grin that felt new and scary and _right_ , and he looked from Jesse's hand to his mouth at least a dozen times in the time it took for Jesse to turn his head. He stepped forward until only a few inches remained between them.

Silence. Jesse swallowed, and he knew beyond all doubt that Cassidy could hear his heart beating.

"Or is it that I've ruined the fantasy? You're thinkin' of that girl, then, are ya? The one that's got you runnin' around this shite-hole like a bloody chicken with its head cut off?" Cassidy inched his boot forward until his knee slid into the narrow gap between Jesse's legs. As the rest of him followed, he wrapped his impossibly cold fingers around Jesse's hand and pried it from his cock. "Preacher," the devil leaned forward, lips pressed against Jesse's ear as he pushed his knee against the preacher's groin, "I'm a lot more fun than some silly girl."

Jesse didn't recognize the quiet groan he'd heard was his own until Cassidy was already kneeling in front of him, fingers slowly working to push Jesse's boxers down around his ankles as he left gentle, calculated kisses on his hips and what little showed of his stomach. Jesse's hand, now useless, snaked up Cassidy's neck and into his hair, forcing him lower with the same drunken aggression that had put him here in the first place. Even as he looked away, he swore he could he feel Cassidy _grin_.

The flat of Cassidy's tongue against his cock felt so good that Jesse had to use his other hand to brace himself against the wall, and it felt like an eternity before Cassidy stopped teasing him and took him into his mouth. Jesse moaned, loud, and his grip tightened in Cassidy's hair as the man bobbed his head in a rhythm so slow it made Jesse want to scream.

He squirmed and bucked against that infuriating Irish face, and Cassidy retaliated by pinning Jesse's hips to the wall behind him. Jesse whined, helpless, and wished he could tell himself that he didn't want it as Cassidy swallowed him whole, wished he didn't hold his friend's head there until he couldn't take it anymore, wished he hadn't whispered "please" in a voice so low and desperate only Cassidy could have ever heard him. When Jesse loosened his grip, Cassidy pulled back at that same, agonizing pace, tongue moving back and forth along the underside of his cock until Jesse's knees got weak and he felt so high he wished for nothing but death and more friction.

The second time Cassidy went down on him, every sensation from the feel of Cassidy to the sweat on his skin was replaced with a pleasure so hot Jesse thought he was dying. He slammed his head back against the wall, writhing and whining and scraping his heel against the floor as his friend wrung him dry.

Exhausted, Jesse let his fingers fall from Cassidy’s hair, and Cassidy's grin as he stood up was so wide you'd think it was Christmas. He snaked his hand up Jesse's side to give the preacher's cheek an affectionate pat, and Jesse was so spent he didn't even utter a protest. Cassidy laughed, amused and satisfied at his destruction of something the world thought so pure.

"What d'you think, padre? Have you forgotten about yer girl yet?"

Jesse couldn’t respond, just watched and listened as his devil let out another howl of manic laughter and sauntered off into the hot summer night.


End file.
